Raven took advantage of the respite in their constant marching to work with his half-taan. He was pleased with their progress. They were starting to hold their heads up, to look straight ahead instead of constantly staring at the ground. He was so pleased with their advancement in their fighting skills that this day, he sought out Dag-ruk.
“Dur-zor,” said Raven, “tell Dag-ruk that I propose a contest between our two tribes.”
Dag-ruk burst into laughter. Turning to the taan warriors who had gathered around her, she told them Raven’s proposal. The taan hooted and grinned.
“Does she refuse?” Raven asked.
“Of course, Raven,” said Dur-zor. “There is no honor for the taan to fight a slave.”
“But the half-taan are not slaves,” Raven argued. “Not now. K’let has set them free.”
Dur-zor looked uneasy.
“What is it?” Raven demanded.
“The taan do not see it that way, Raven,” said Dur-zor. She gave him a pleading glance. “I did not want to tell you the truth. You were so pleased with what you were doing.”
“Tell me,” Raven said grimly.
“The taan believe that K’let gave you all the half-taan as your own slaves.”
Raven stared. “Of all the—” He halted, baffled, then said, “Tell them the truth, Dur-zor. Tell them that the half-taan are not my slaves, any more than you are my slave. Tell them that the half-taan are…are”—he fumbled for a word—“are my brothers.”
“Do you mean that, Raven?” Dur-zor’s eyes shone with pleasure.
“Of course I mean it. What do you think I’ve been doing all these weeks? Training an army of slaves for my own personal protection?”
“No, Raven, of course not,” said Dur-zor hastily. “I will tell Dag-ruk.”
The nizam was not impressed, however. Her lips curled in a sneer, and she said something that Raven could not understand, then walked off. When Raven asked Dur-zor to translate, Dur-zor would say only that Dag-ruk would not even consider a contest.
As they trudged back to their tribe, Raven was silent and thoughtful. Dur-zor had come to know that look on his face.
“Raven, what are you plotting?” she asked with trepidation.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Am I really so transparent?”
“I do not understand that word, Raven.”
“Can you really see through me? Like seeing fish through clear stream water?”
“Oh, yes, Raven,” said Dur-zor. Again, noting his look, she said, “Was that the wrong answer?”
He gave a rueful laugh. “We all like to be thought of as mysterious. I guess I’m not. What am I plotting?” His tone grew grim. “We’ll have our contest, whether Dag-ruk wants it or not.”
Dur-zor sighed deeply, but she took care that Raven did not hear her.
Back in camp, Raven summoned together his half-taan.
“I have been to Dag-ruk, to ask if the taan warriors would compete in a contest with us,” Raven announced.
Most of the half-taan looked eager. Some looked startled. Others just looked sick.
“The answer was no. Not only that, but their ‘no’ was an insult.”
He was pleased to see flashes of anger in the eyes of most of the half-taan, and he heard several growl. A few were vastly relieved, but that was only to be expected.
“We’re going to shove that ‘no’ down their throats!” Raven continued, and several of the half-taan grinned and shook their spears. “Tugi, you and Gar-dra and Mok will come hunting with me. We’re going to bring down the largest beast we can find and haul it back to camp. Once we’ve got it, we’ll make a fine show of it. We will spread the word among the taan camps that we have strong food for tomorrow night’s meal. They will come to our camp to steal it. We will hide in our tents, and when they sneak into camp, we will teach them a lesson.”
The half-taan began to grin. One gave a whooping cheer that was silenced at Raven’s frown. Only a few appeared fearful. Raven noted these. He’d make sure they were assigned some task that would keep them out of the way, keep them from being harmed. Overall, he was pleased with the response. His half-taan were eager to prove themselves. Thoughts of groveling and cringing were gone.
Raven assembled his hunting party and went out in search of a wild boar that had been sighted in the area. Dur-zor remained in camp, continuing the weapons lessons for those who had yet to fully master the skill. The lessons were accompanied by insults and laughter, as some of the taan warriors came to watch. Taan children threw rocks at them. Dur-zor gritted her teeth and continued on with grim perseverance.
The half-taan killed their boar. Returning to camp, they gutted the animal and hung the meat high in a tree to let the blood drain. They spread the word among the taan that the half-taan would have a fine feast tomorrow. Strong food.
Back in their camp, the half-taan practiced with their weapons and waited eagerly for sundown.
Klendist and his force reached Old Vinnengael at about the same time as the taan, although neither was, for the moment, aware of the other. Klendist rode from the east and made camp south of the ruined city, that was about ten miles distant. The taan were camped about twenty miles to the west. On the morning that Raven asked Dag-ruk about the contest, Klendist formed scouting parties, sending them out to observe the lay of the land. He ordered his men to keep special watch for any small parties, such as this group of Dominion Lords.
The scouts departed. Klendist remained in camp, waiting for Shakur.
The day passed with no sign of the Vrykyl.
Klendist found the wait boring. He had no real idea when to expect Shakur, and the thought came to him that he might be stuck there for days on end without action unless, by some stroke of good fortune, they came across these Dominion Lords.
The scouts returned at sundown with their reports and, at about the same time, Shakur rode into camp. He motioned peremptorily to Klendist to ride with him.
“I see your scouts have returned. What have they found?” Shakur demanded when they were alone.
“A group of bahk have taken up residence outside the ruins of Old Vinnengael,” Klendist reported. “My men counted about fifteen of the monsters, but there may be more inside the city.”
Shakur eyed him. “That will make no difference to you, Klendist. You have no need to enter the city. Not unless you fail in your assignment.”
“We’re not going to fail.”
“Good. What else?”
“No sign of those Dominion Lords—” Klendist began.
“No, it is early yet.”
“But this is a vast area. There are more ways into the ruins than there are holes in a Dunkargan cheese,” Klendist stated. “If I had five hundred men, we couldn’t begin to cover them all.”
“You will not need five hundred men. You probably won’t even need five. The Dominion Lords have a guide, who will lead them straight to you.”
“Ah, well, that’s better,” said Klendist. “Who is this guide? We don’t want to kill him by mistake.”
“Valura is in no danger from the likes of you,” Shakur returned coolly. “And you are not to kill anyone.”
“Sorry, my mistake. But these are Dominion Lords, Shakur. Powerful warriors who fight with the blessing of the gods. We may not have any choice—”
Shakur’s helmed head leaned close.
Klendist was a brute, with a brute’s callous courage, but he could not help feeling a clenching in his gut as he stared into those empty eyes and caught a whiff of the rotted flesh beneath the black armor.
“You have a choice, Klendist,” Shakur hissed. Drawing out the Blood-knife, he held it in his palm. “This is your choice.”
The knife was yellowed with age, stained russet brown with the blood of those whose lives it had drained.
“I understand you, Shakur,” said Klendist harshly. “Put that damn thing away.”
“See that you do understand me,” said Shakur, thrusting the knife back into its sheath.
“The Dominion Lords are to be captured alive.”
Klendist growled in dissatisfaction. His horse shifted restlessly. “I’ve been thinking about this. Taking them won’t be easy.”
“You have war wizards who can deal with them, and Valura will be there to help you.” Shakur was fast losing patience. “By the Void, Klendist, there are only four of them! You are two hundred. You can all pile on top of them, if nothing else.”
“And what do we do once we have them?” Klendist retorted, undaunted. “They will be difficult to guard. I don’t want the responsibility for them.”
“You will not have it long, rest assured of that,” said Shakur. “His Lordship is eager to meet with them. Once you have captured them, His Lordship will come retrieve them.”
“And he’ll pay us?”
“And pay you.”
“Very well,” said Klendist. “We’ll wait until we hear from you. Just out of curiosity, Shakur. While we’re dealing with the Dominion Lords, what will you be doing?”
“There is another Vrykyl out there, one who is far more dangerous to my lord than any twelve Dominion Lords. My task is to deal with their rebel.”
Klendist gave a whistle. “That powerful, huh? Mind telling me who he is or what he looks like? I wouldn’t want to run across him.”
“If you did, it wouldn’t matter,” said Shakur. “Because by the time you figured it out, you would already be dead.”
The Vrykyl turned his horse’s head, galloped off.
Klendist glowered after him. He remained watching until he was certain that Shakur was gone. Klendist didn’t believe this story of a rebel Vrykyl. Shakur was up to something.
“Something private on his own,” Klendist muttered. “All that bullshit about dealing with some deadly foe. As if there was any foe a Vrykyl couldn’t handle. Well, whoever the rebel is, I wish him luck. I wouldn’t mind seeing that Void-cursed monstrosity fall off his high horse.”
Returning to the campsite, Klendist found his men in a state of excitement. The last patrol had ridden in, and they came with good news.
“Did you find the Dominion Lords?” Klendist asked, swinging down out of the saddle.
“No, sir, not them,” said the scout contemptuously. His face split in a wide grin. “Something better, sir. We found gigs.”
“Taan?” Klendist said with interest. “Where? How many?”
“Looks like several tribes of the fiends, sir. They’re camped about twenty miles from here, off over there.”
He pointed to the west, where the shapes of rolling hills were silhouetted against the twilight.
“How many, do you estimate?”
“Not many, sir. We could take them.”
“We figure we could attack them at night, sir,” said another. “Catch them off guard.”
“Gigs don’t like to fight at night, sir,” one reminded him.
“They may not like to, but they’re still damn good at it,” said Klendist. “Did it look like they were expecting trouble?”
“No, sir,” said the scout. “They had posted their pickets, but just the usual number. It will be easy enough to shut them up.” He drew his finger across his throat.
“We lived with the gigs, Captain,” one reminded him. “We endured their stink and their filth for months. Now it’s time to get some of our own back. We know their ways. We know where to find their chief’s tent, and we know where the big muckety-muck warriors sleep. We can sneak in, take them by surprise.”
“We can wipe ’em out, sir. See to it that their little gigs don’t grow into big ones.”
“By the time they wake up, they’ll find our spears in their bellies. What do you say, Captain?”
Klendist was tempted. True, he was working for Shakur, but the Vrykyl himself had said that their quarry was not due to arrive for days yet. Having lived side by side with the taan for months on end, Klendist had come to hate them every bit as much as his men did. He hated their stink, hated their beady little eyes, hated their superior attitude. He thought of what they did to the humans they took prisoner—the torture, the rape, the butchering, and after that…Well, what the taan did after that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Saddle your horses,” Klendist ordered, adding in a shout, to be heard above the cheers, “Try not to kill them all. Let’s keep a few for sport. We may be stuck here a long time.”
Laughing, the mercenaries rode out into the night, taking along several wineskins to lighten the tedium of the ride and fire their blood for the coming slaughter.
The night deepened. Raven crouched in his tent, his eye to the tent flap. Dur-zor knelt behind him, her kep-ker in her hands. The other half-taan were hiding in their tents, watching, waiting. Raven had taught them an old Trevinici trick used when fighting at night. They had smeared their faces and bodies with mud so that they blended into the darkness.
A half-moon shone, low in the sky. The starlight was bright. Shortly after midnight, Raven saw the hulking shapes of six taan warriors lope into camp. They did not even bother to sneak in quietly, but came laughing and chortling. Roaming carelessly through the half-taan encampment, the taan kicked over drying racks and sent cooking pots rolling. One taan snagged a tent post with his toe, bringing the tent sagging down. The taan chortled. Raven held his breath, hoping that the tent’s occupant—Gar-dra, one of the more militant half-taans—did not spring the trap prematurely. Raven heard a grunt and a muttered curse coming from the tent, but Gar-dra remained inside. The taan did not even hear that much. Their eyes were fixed on the boar meat that hung from the branch of a nearby tree, to keep it from the ravages of coyotes and wolves. The taan smacked their lips and talked of how well they would dine that night.
“Slaves do not deserve such strong food,” one said loudly.
“I am amazed the slaves managed to bring down such a fierce animal,” said another. “Probably the animal was old and weak, unfit for a warrior’s feasting.”
“Then we will give it to the children,” said a third, and they all hooted with laughter.
The taan headed for the tree that stood some distance outside the camp. In their arrogance, none bothered to look behind. Padding soft-footed, Raven crept from his tent. A wave of his hand brought the half-taan slipping out after him. Gar-dra emerged from his wrecked tent, his face twisted in a scowl, his eyes glittering with anger. The half-taan had heard the insults. Even the meekest were roused.
They were so roused that Raven started to worry. All the half-taan carried weapons. He wanted to show the taan that the half-taan could fight and fight well, but he didn’t want any taan killed, and he was concerned that, in their current mood, the riled half-taan might cave in a skull or break someone’s neck.
It was too late to halt them now. The half-taan had almost caught up with their former masters, whose eyes were on the boar meat. Something, either a rustle of the grass or a warrior’s sense, alerted one of taan. He glanced around. Before he could shout a warning, Raven leapt on him and bore him to the ground.
Dur-zor let out a war cry. The other half-taan joined in and fell upon the taan in a rush. Fists swung, clubs thunked. The air was filled with the sounds of grunts and snarls and gurgling laughter from the half-taan. The occasional yelp came from the taan.
Raven smashed his fist into his taan. The warrior lay on the ground, stunned, but not unconscious. Before the taan could recover, Raven grabbed hold of the taan’s wrists, bound them securely with a length of sinew. He did the same with the taan’s ankles. By then, the taan had come to his senses. Struggling futilely in his bonds, he glared at Raven with fury.
Raven looked around the field of battle to find that the fight was over. The half-taan had done well. All six taan lay tied up on the ground, snarling and snapping and making impotent threats. The half-taan laughed and poked at them with their clubs or sticks. The half-taan were pleased with themselves, proud of their accomplishment. Raven was pleased with himself. He’d given his people confidence, and he’d also given the taan somethi
ng to think about.
“Don’t worry, friends,” Raven said to the angry taan, through Dur-zor, “we won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll take you back to your camp.”
At that, the taan were so enraged that they began to foam and froth at the mouth. Being hauled back to their camp in ignominy and shame, prisoners of their former slaves, would make them objects of ridicule and shame. The half-taan tied ropes around their chests, preparatory to hauling them bodily over the ground. Remembering how he himself had been hauled in the same way, when he was captured by the taan, Raven basked warmly in his revenge.
With their taan prisoners trussed up like pigs going to market, Raven and his half-taan started their triumphal procession toward the taan camp.
Topping one of the many rolling hills, Klendist could see the taan campfires. His men were keyed up, excited. They’d gone a long time without action and were spoiling for a fight. They laughed and made vows as to what they would do to the “gigs” when they caught them.
They were close enough to see the occasional figure moving about the camp. Most of the taan were asleep in their tents, for the hour was late. The scouts had reported that there were two main camps and one small camp, set off by itself. Klendist figured they would hit the two main camps first, destroy them, then ride down on the small camp.
The sight of the taan whetted the appetites of the raiding party. The men spurred their horses and rode wildly toward the camp, each man wanting to get in the first kill. Klendist rode at their head.
A taan rose up out of the long grass, practically underneath the nose of Klendist’s horse. The taan let out an eerie howl that split the night wide open and caused the horse to rear in panic.
All around Klendist, taan leapt up out of the grass, howling and moaning like fiends of the Void in their final torments. Horses bucked and reared. Several ran off with their riders, who fought desperately to bring them under control. By the time Klendist drew his sword, the taan had dashed off into the night, running to warn the camp.
Journey into the Void Page 45